


metaphor not simile

by k8 (paintedmaypole)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-17
Updated: 2003-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedmaypole/pseuds/k8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the do-wop pop-punk saga of long and unrequited love. It isn't even part two or the remix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	metaphor not simile

**Author's Note:**

> _do, ray, me, fa:_ Apologies to Katie. I tried, but I couldn't get "apocryphal" in here. Couplet belongs to Stevie Wonder, [Definitive Wonder Challenge](http://www.obsessivetendencies.net/challenge/wonder_challenge.html) belongs to Katie, grateful thanks go to Sandy the Younger for the beta and Kel for offering to spend her two hours of computer lab time looking at it.

_brother's smart he's got more sense than many  
his patience's long but soon he won't have any_  
\-- "Living for the City", Stevie Wonder

  
There's too much almond flavoring in his coffee. Justin swirls it around in the paper cup and lets himself frown, just a little. He never likes the flavor shots. Why did he order the flavor shot?

Chris sits down next to him and nudges his shoulder. "Dude. It's not a dead puppy. It's coffee."

"It's too sweet. I got the flavor shot."

"Dumbfuck." Chris sighs, loudly-- "here"-- and hands Justin his cup. "Drink this." Chris grabs Justin's coffee. "You better be glad I like that shit."

Justin grins. "You're sweet boy. You're almond-flavored sweet."

Chris snorts. 'Whatever."

Justin drinks his coffee. Chris is staring off across the soundstage, towards the corner where JC is shaking back his hair and talking to a girl. JC's hips lean towards hers, her shoulder shifts towards him. Ahh, Justin thinks. Chris frowns a bit and looks away, staring at the other extras. He coughs.

There's lint on Chris's shoulder. Justin picks it off and Chris jumps, just a little. They're waiting for the go ahead, there's some hold up on a light strip. Lance is sprawled out in the living room set with the chick and her handlers hovering in the corner. He's got his cell phone tucked under one ear, talking quietly. Justin drinks Chris's non-flavored coffee and waits until there's a burst of noise through the loudspeakers and the Production Manager is shouting up and at'em. Justin hops up, Chris just groans and holds up his arms.

"Carry me?"

Justin rolls his eyes. "Come on old man." He pulls Chris up and pushes him back towards the extras.

  
The video premieres on a Tuesday and they schedule a call into TRL from the road. It's just them and hotels so Justin throws a video party. Videos and Uno. Only, the Lance modified version of Uno, which involves tequila and bears many similarities to Asshole. It's an Nsync party classic.

Joey is Peon three games in a row. JC is World Leader and gleefully kicking everyone's ass. JC's drunk which means he's touching Chris on the shoulder and twisting his hip into Chris's side. Justin watches as Chris's knee bounces once and leans towards JC. Chris looks down at his hands.

On game five Justin calls time out and pops in the video. There are certain highlights. JC hates his hat. Hates it, vocally. Joey loves it, vocally. Justin watches the back and forth like it's tennis until Lance tells them to shut up and deal. Justin looks at Chris, Lance is sexy when he's snappish. Chris refuses eye contact on that one, because he's a dumbfuck with his thumb resting on JC's leg, but Justin ignores it and moves on. He taps his index finger against his knee and they rewatch the video a few times. The girl, Justin stares at her ass. She seemed very nice. They talked about her cat.

The game starts up again, but Justin's staring at the wall. There's an odd blank spot. It needs something. He leans against Chris and tries to pay attention to the game. Lance hands him something that smells like alcohol and Justin takes a long swig. He's sleepy, he's buzzed, JC is talking about something. Chris's leg bounces nonstop next to Justin's and Justin pushes into Chris's side until he stops and Justin yawns.

"Hey," Chris pokes him. "Go to bed."

Jive throws a party. It's hot, it's outside, there's a tent with green stripes, and the huge Jive logo carved out of ice is melting. Chris bitches about wasted water and children in third-world countries, but they're all bored and it's fairly half-assed bitching. Justin watches Chris out of the corner of his eye. Chris looks tired and Justin caught him rubbing his knee earlier. Justin frowns, but then Chris elbows him, hard.

"Timberlake. Don't make me whoop your ass."

Justin dances out of the way and backs into JC and some whatever of a boy. JC twitches his chin towards Justin. "That's Justin, Chris is over there."

The whatever of a boy says "charmed." Who says charmed any more?

They move over towards Chris and it turns out the whatever is in club promotions. Chris's mouth looks a little flat and Justin raises an eyebrow slightly when Chris says "very interesting" like the whatever is a bug he's about to splat.

After another hour of this, Chris and Justin leave early. Chris is crashing at Justin's because he always crashes at Justin's. In the car, Chris tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. Justin watches him, then the road, him, then the road. When he looks back again, Chris's eyes are open and he's glaring at Justin.

"Watch the fucking road. You trying to kill me?"

"At this point we're a minute from the house, so I think your life is safe for now."

"This time." Chris rubs between his eyes. "I have a fucking headache."

Justin frowns. When they get back he shoves aspirin at Chris and flops out on the bed in the guest room while Chris gets water. Chris clicks the bathroom door closed, sharp and then opens it again, quickly.

"I mean, fuck. Does JC actually find these men interesting?"

Justin wants to smile, but he doesn't. He just sits up and looks at Chris in what he hopes is a calm and reasonable manner. "Well that or just sexually attractive. Did you have an in-depth conversation on the lifting of the inheritance tax with your last hookup?"

Chris frowns and turns back towards the bathroom. At the door he pauses and taps at the frame. He keeps his back towards Justin and Justin coughs. Chris turns into the bathroom, puts down his glass and comes back into the room. He sighs. "Shut up."

Justin looks at Chris. "You slept with him again."

Chris shrugs, "maybe." He sits down on the bed. "Maybe not. I'm kind of hoping my brain made it up."

"Yeah," Justin snorts, "that's likely." He frowns. "You know, sleeping with him is a really not-good idea."

Chris leans downs and pulls at a shoelace. He kicks his shoes into the corner. "Yeah, well," Chris kicks at the mattress, "you were always smarter anyway."

Justin frowns. "No. I think I'm just. Look, metaphor: Don't pick at the scab. Dancing on a broken foot is dumb. You rebreak it and piss off the money. So pretend I'm the money and I'm telling you not to dance on the foot."

Chris's mouth twitches. "The money?"

"Oh shut up. Look, just remember. JC knows. He knows you, he's your friend and he loves you, but he goes and hooks up with you anyway."

"He asked." Chris kicks at the bedspread a bit. "I said I was cool. I went with it."

"Yeah, well, he still doesn't know you as well as I do."

  
Justin has a morning so he decides to go sneaker shopping. Well, Trace tells him he's looking like a miserable fuck and to go do something. Trace is good people. Justin doesn't actually buy anything, because he never really needs to pay for sneakers anymore, but he shows interest and expresses delight and gets three pairs sent to the hotel. There are benefits to popularity, he'll admit.

There are times when he thinks it's like a giant high school and they're just one group hanging out around certain well-placed lockers. The seniors maybe, but he's not sure he likes that word. Justin heads back to the hotel. There's an afternoon of press to look forward to. He's in the SUV and he's sleepy. He'd rather they just drove around the block all afternoon. So what do you do, collectively, when the teachers and the superintendents say it's time for you to take the last classes and get that diploma? Justin maybe doesn't like the high school metaphor.

The interviews are with the foreign press. The German reporter, Harold, is cute and blond. Justin likes his arms. Harold asks about the charities, five people collaborating, and how it feels to write everything on a record. If it's scarier. Justin nods and looks at the group.

"You have to own it. There's more risk because it's your baby and you're committing to it. For good or for bad."

"The other projects," Chris cuts in, "they're ours too though."

The reporter nods, "definitely," and looks at Justin. He's got brown eyes and a brown tie to coordinate. If he weren't a reporter, Justin would be after his number. "But now you're working on the production too."

Justin is nodding. "I think. It means we're all present, we're all vocal. There's no sleepwalking allowed. If we screw up, it's us."

He pulls at his pant leg. The Japanese interpreter is asking about criticism. Joey says something about thick skins, then there's a Joey-belly joke. Justin looks up again.

"I think it's better to risk it that to be participating in something that you aren't fully a part of. You can't really enjoy it otherwise."

Lance edges in and talks about enjoying the tour and drops in the enjoyable tour dates and the enjoyable tour-size factoids of the week. Basically: it's smaller, it's quieter, there's no choreography. Lance shoots a look at Joey. "Got to get the dad home at a decent hour."

"Forget the dad," Chris cuts in. "We had to take care of my knees, I'm an old man."

JC is always checking on the sound quality. Acoustics, acoustics are important. He and Steve and Joey huddle with the Sound Manager at each venue. They start to leave an extra hour in between the concert and the sound-checks, just for tweaking. At the beginning of the tour, in the planning stages, JC began mentioning it, worrying about which systems best highlighted their harmonies. Joey laughed and said there would always be too many screamers, but Lance nodded, "maybe not." Besides, they're a collection of obsessive tweakers. If there's no choreography to futz about, they can worry about sound quality instead.

During rehearsals, Joey brings Briahna backstage and they work in a Sondheim cover, so Joey can play diva. They take songs from each of the solo albums and retool them for five voices and Chris writes what Justin secretly calls the do-wop pop-punk saga of long and unrequited love.

Justin sings lead vocals on it though, thank god, but the first time JC hears it he looks pained. Afterwards, Justin spots him talking to Lance and looking like a deer in headlights. The next time they're all together, drinking, JC stands by Lance and doesn't touch anyone except for a few dozen randoms on the dance floor.

Jive assigns them a new representative. Her name is Joyce, she's 27. Her job is, basically: talk to Johnny, talk to Jive, talk to the artist. Joyce doesn't like to be called Representative, she prefers Facilitator. Chris and Justin call her The Money.

Apparently, JC thinks she's hot. Joyce comes out for meetings and he talks to her afterwards in corners. They meet for coffee in hotel restaurants and when they're in New York she stays over. Justin watches Chris. Chris watches Joyce. No one watching says anything out loud.

At soundcheck, Justin sings the second verse of the do-wop pop-punk saga of long and unrequited love, twice. There's something wrong with the microphones and Justin gets asked to sing it a few more times on top of the first two while JC and the Sound Manager make adjustments. Joyce is in town. She flew in for a meeting that morning and she stands with JC and watches with her hand on JC's shoulder. Chris watches them from the back of the meeting, Chris watches them from stage left, Chris is hovering. JC tells him to sing his part and Chris does, but it's more mumbling than singing. Justin thinks it sounds kind of like scales.

There's debate going between JC and the Sound Manager. After a few minutes of watching them debate, Justin drops and sits on the edge of the stage. JC is pulling at his hat, frowning. Justin kicks the back of his feet against the metal edge.

"Look. Just figure it out. Let it go or fix it. It gets worse the more you play with it." Justin hops up again and heads towards the back of the stage. He's probably pacing. He pivots and turns at the back, heads towards the front. Okay, he's pacing.

"Justin?" Chris jerks his head left. "Hey."

Justin looks at him. He squints and Chris's face blurs. He unsquints and Chris is back again, the same as before. Justin shakes his head.

Justin gets a cold. He stays in bed whenever he isn't performing one of a million scheduled activities and requests vitamins from room service. They send up Vitamin C, Echinacea, and Zinc. The doctor checks Justin's throat every morning and Justin watches a lot of CNN. There's a coup going on in South America and people are getting killed. The reporter is on the scene, talking to a teacher next to a bombed out school building. The bomb exploded on Monday, during lunch. The teacher is crying and isn't saying much. That or the translator sucks, because she keeps repeating to the reporter, "they'll never get to see what's next."

The reporter nods and looks appropriately concerned, yet appropriately impartial. They cut to commercial and Justin naps.

The cell phone wakes him up again fifty-two minutes later. He's dreaming about costumes just before he wakes up. Kathy, the old wardrobe lady, is in it. She's following him everywhere with a clothing rack.

The phone call is from his mother. Justin sits back against the headboard and pulls up the comforter.

"So she's everywhere with this damn rack, trying to get me to wear them. Only, the outfits are all the ones we wore four years ago. The satin ones too."

Justin's mother snorts. "That's subtle."

"Oh, it gets better. I kept telling her they didn't fit me anymore, the costumes." Justin rolls over and stares at the wall.

"Honey, people like to create drama. People want to read about rises and falls. They want news with a capital 'n'."

The door opens and Chris slides in. Justin stares at him for a moment and Chris flops down on the bed next to him.

Justin looks down at his phone. "We are in transition."

"I don't know. I think sometimes you just worry about the somethings you have control over. Every second is transition. Sometimes there's no news to it. "

When Justin hangs up the phone, Chris leans over and puts his hand against his forehead. "How's my favorite Justin feeling?"

Justin pulls his head away, "tired."

"What's up with transitions?"

Justin shrugs. "Well. We're in one."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Which one? The hitting mid-twenties transition, the I have a kid transition, the hitting mid-thirties transition, or the heading to the next city tomorrow transition." Chris trails off, "stop me if I list the right one."

Justin smiles. "I had a dumb dream. I'm sick."

"Well, yes."

Justin sighs, "be nice to me, I feel like crap. "

"Hey, yeah." Chris grabs his shoulder and tugs at Justin until he's leaning against Chris and has a pillow under his head. "Sleep some more."

Justin wakes up again when someone starts tapping at the door. Chris is snoring next to him, so Justin gets up and goes for the door. It's Joyce, only she's got a hotel cart with her.

"Hey. Everyone ate, so we ordered you soup." She pushes the cart closer to Justin. "And JC, he worried you wouldn't want the soup, so there's a burger in there too."

When Justin pulls the cart back into the room, Chris is awake. "Feed me. I'm wasting away."

Justin rolls his eyes. "I'm the sick one. Why should I feed you?"

Chris sighs. "I worry about your upbringing." He pushes out of bed and walks over to check out the food. "Who ordered?"

"Joyce, I guess."

"Mmm." Chris's eyebrows narrow a little, but he picks up the plate with the burger. "She's good people."

Justin's pouring water into a glass. He stops partway and looks at Chris. "Yeah?"

"JC asked her to travel with us and she said no."

"Really?" Justin sits down next to Chris. "Interesting."

"Yeah, well, she manages him well. JC can't get what he wants all the time." Chris picks the onions off his burger with his right hand and gestures with the left. "I suck at managing people."

"Whatever." Justin frowns, "you manage me just fine."

Justin stops dreaming about old wardrobe coordinators. He doesn't remember his dreams for about a week, which is just odd. After that he flip flops between never being awake and never being sleepy.

They're in Canada and Chris decides he wants another tattoo. They try to go to the same tattoo parlor as the first time, but none of them can actually remember where it was. They ask the hotel and are immediately given a pre-printed, pre-selected list of five. Hotels are amazing that way.

Chris requests that they go to option number two, because they probably won't suck, but "who knows how much the fuckers in the number one spot paid for that." At the parlor a woman named Stefani-- who is probably at least eighty years old, but Justin's momma raised him not to ask questions like that-- shows them the books of options and the photos.

Chris flips through. "Animals, people seem to really be into animals. Oh, hey, cool snake?"

Justin shakes his head. "Snakes remind me of Britney. Dancing with that thing?"

"And in heels too. Hey, I wonder how much that thing weighed?"

Justin shrugs, "the girl's built."

Justin taps at the counter with his index finger. There's a red curtain next to him, he can hear a needle buzzing behind it. He checks his watch. It's almost lunchtime and he's hungry.

"Fuck it." Chris closes the book. "I can't just vaguely want a tattoo. It hurts too damn much."

"Well then," Justin pulls on his sleeve, "what next?"

"You're hungry," Chris grins at him, "let's get food."

There's the next video to plan. It's soundtrack work, but it'll be the main song. Well, it's Lance's damn movie so it had better be the main song. Justin doesn't think they need to ask.

JC decides to get picky about the video treatment. He wants something "interesting". He announces this in the middle of a group meeting after they've looked at two different options. Chris leans forward.

"Interesting? Or interesting being another word for costumes and sex? Because, C, I love you, but wouldn't you rather keep that level of interesting for your next video?" There's a collective group-blink, but Chris holds up his hand. "No, that stuff's cool and it works for you great, but for the group stuff not so much."

There's more debate about the treatments they've seen. Finally, Johnny speaks up.

"It sounds to me like you're all agreeing here. None of you really like these enough to send them back for changes." Johnny shrugs. "All of you liked Lance's original idea."

Justin keeps checking his watch, he's got a lunch date. There's another flurry of debate. At 12:50 he looks around. "Fifteen minute warning, people."

Ten minutes later they're up and out. Justin heads out towards his car and Chris tags along with Lance. Someone else can give him a ride, for once. Chris bounces a little on his feet.

"So, lunch. With who?"

Lance rolls his eyes. "Leave him alone. The boy needs to get laid."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "That kind of lunch?" He looks at Justin.

Justin shrugs and hops in his car. "Could be."

  
It's not horrible, but it's not anything to write home about either. Justin calls his mother on the way home anyway. He's hanging up as he walks in the house. Chris is in the kitchen making coffee and Justin holds up the phone.

"Mom. I don't think I've talked to her more than twice this week."

Chris pulls down another mug for the coffee. "You're old. That's old age. I used to have to call every day when I got home in high school or she'd freak."

Justin pours out coffee. It smells funny. Very much like a flavored coffee might smell. Very much like it is a flavored coffee. He takes a louder whiff and looks at Chris.

"It won't be too sweet. Trust me." Chris looks around the kitchen. He sighs and throws his spoon into the sink. "I started another song."

Justin blinks and drinks some of the coffee. "Yeah?" The coffee is okay, it's enjoyable maybe.

"Well, yeah, but I think it kinda sucks. I want you to help me with it." Chris moves over to the sink again and washes the spoon. "Please."

"Um. Okay." Justin nods. "Now?"

"I'm trying to avoid the spoon/june school of rhyming." Chris grabs his mug, "here," he heads into the living room. "I don't want it to suck. I really don't, but I've got, like, a history of two songs to lean on, so assistance is needed."

Justin shrugs, "it won't suck. I'll tell you if it does, but it won't suck."

Chris has been using Justin's guitar, but Justin's seen him use it before. He knows to wipe it down after and how to put it on the stand.

"Um, Chris? There's a lot of paper around here."

"Yeah, well," Chris looks around, "the beginning part. Starting is hard."

"Just sing the damn thing."

It isn't the do-wop pop-punk saga of long and unrequited love. It isn't even part two or the remix. Justin isn't quite sure what it is. There are about, two lines. Okay, maybe three.

"Look," Chris puts his hand down over the strings. Justin hates that noise. "I started. I started and it was there and going, but then you went on that damn lunch date when I was going to ask you to help. I lost the," he frowns, "the groove or whatever." He puts the guitar down and grabs the coffee. He puts the coffee down and rubs his knee. "Fuck the song. Don't go on any more lunch dates, okay? Please?"

Justin frowns, he looks over at Chris. He's got a blue t-shirt on and shoes that don't coordinate with anything. He's got pretty eyes though. "Are we having an actual discussion here? What are we talking about? Because I'm tired and time's a' moving."

"Look. Just. There are times when I do very dumb things and you tell me. And there are times when I have headaches and you know and grab the aspirin. I knew you wouldn't hate the coffee, and you don't hate the coffee, even though you're probably going to tell me you do, just on principle." Chris hops up and walks over towards the television, then back. "You have weird overly and obviously symbolic dreams about costumes not fitting and your place in the universe and you can't only have your mother to call and calm you down from that shit. You can't, because that sucks."

Chris sits down again. Justin watches him from the other end of the couch. He squints and the room goes blurry. He looks down before Chris looks over at him again. Justin frowns, he could move over, he could leave, he could stay right where he is, he could tell Chris to leave.

"Yeah. I kind-of let it go a little long didn't I?"

Justin snorts. "I don't know what to do anymore. I kind of. Adjusted to this." He looks at Chris. "Whatever this is we adjusted to."

"Yeah. But no, because then you go and call your mother about how your dates went instead of me."

Justin sighs. "Maybe that's just because you're a pain in the neck and I don't want to have to tell you about the dates?"

"Well, yes. We know I'm a pain in the neck, it's one of my charms. I'm also a cocky bastard and you're a cocky bastard."

"Well," Justin smirks, "there is Lance. He's a cocky bastard too."

"He's just a snarky bastard. Our cockiness could beat him."

"Not the ferret though."

Chris shudders. "No, not that damn ferret. Did you see what it did to my dog?"

Justin nods, "poor thing." He looks over at Chris. "Okay, I did like the coffee."

"I didn't. It sucked. My taste buds are permanently damaged." He reaches over and pulls at Justin's shoulder until he's sort-of next to Chris and sort-of on the couch. "Make it better."

Justin taps his fingers on Chris's knee. "Okay," he leans his mouth back and up into Chris's neck. "I can try that."

The next morning Justin wakes up partway through some dream about being a freshman in college and buying books for classes and getting lost several times on campus. Chris is the friendly, helpful, Res-Life Assistant and Justin oh-so not-so subtly follows him around in the dining hall until Chris asks Justin to just pick a table and eat with him. Justin wakes up as he's finding out he received a B- on his first paper. He's not happy with the grade. Justin wakes up and his back is sweaty because Chris is shoved up against it. He rolls over and pokes Chris in the stomach.

"Hey. Hey. Listen to this one."


End file.
